


Of Sea Salt and Laments

by odyssxus



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Basically an excuse to write three of my favs in one fic, Elvish Culture, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Gimli, Sailing To Valinor, Sea-longing, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 04:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: Before sailing to Valinor after the death of Aragorn in the Fourth Age, Gimli and a sea-longing wracked Legolas meet a stranger wandering the shores of Middle Earth, drowning in grief and loss over deeds done in ages past.





	Of Sea Salt and Laments

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same realm as my series, though is itself a oneshot. You certainly do not need to read those to understand this (though I hope you do!) but please note that I headcanon Legolas as being older than most authors, having been born in Second Age 3400. I also expand on his family tree a bit. Basically, he is a great-great grandson of Elmo (Elu Thingol’s younger brother) on his father’s side, and a great-grandson of Ingwë on his grandmother’s side (who I’ve headcannoned as being Ingwë’s daughter). His mother here is a Silvan elf. So basically he’s distant kin to Elu Thingol (and therefore Celeborn/Celebrian) and a direct descendant of Ingwë. Totally made up, disagree if you want, but I will mention it here, so don’t want anyone to be confused!
> 
> Also, slash is not intended here, but rather deep friendship. I don’t mind if you read it as such, but it was not my intention when writing this particular peace. I adore how in Tolkien’s world men (or in this case, an elf and a dwarf) can have deep and loving friendships without it being romantic. But honestly, read into this what you like!

**Forth Age 120, shortly after the death of King Elessar Telcontar. **

Gimli walked over to his dearest friend, cursing the sand that made his steps uneven. He was not old, not yet, but he was no longer the young dwarf he’d once been, no longer the dwarf that could run across the plains of Rohan chasing after two errant hobbits. His 262nd birthday had recently passed, and his hair was more white than red. Legolas, brother of his heart, looked at him with pain in his eyes upon seeing the many lines that now crossed his face, but Gimli knew he had quite a bit of time left, at least by dwarvish reckoning. Time enough to ensure that Legolas arrived in Valinor as whole and hale as possible to be reunited with his kin who waited in that blessed realm. He would hold on until he knew his friend was safe and cared for, and hopefully much longer.

He had seen Legolas torn apart by the sea longing since first hearing the gulls at Pelargir all those years ago. Years that would normally be but a blink of an eye to an elf, but had weighed heavily on Legolas’s soul. His elf was a happy soul normally, one who had been cheerful even in the most dire of circumstances during the War of the Ring, but the sea longing had nearly torn him apart. 

He had known Aragorn had felt guilty. Even on his deathbed he had grasped Gimli’s hands in a firm grip, begging him to take care of their friend. Aragorn had known Legolas since he himself had been a small child. It hurt him more than words could express to be the cause of his pain, though Legolas had protested whenever the subject had come up. It was his choice to stay, he would say. Aragorn could shoulder no blame. 

“Dratted elf,” he muttered, though with no heat, as he came within hearing distance to his friend. 

Legolas did not respond, gazing along the wide expanse of coastline with a confused expression on his ageless face. His hair, worn loose in these times of peace, was flying about in the wind, pale blond waves like a sail. He was dressed, Gimli thought, in clothing far too light for the weather, wearing naught but a loose silken grey tunic belted over leggings that had been rolled up to just below his knees and his feet were bare. The tunic was slipping slightly from his slender shoulders, and Gimli fought the paternal urge to fix it. Legolas would not thank him for fussing. Gimli had no children of his own, and though the elf was millenia his elder, he had found himself fussing more and more as he himself aged. The other elves had found it endlessly amusing, the twin sons of Elrond in particular. 

He wasn’t looking at the sea, Gimli noted in surprise as he finally reached Legolas, steadying himself against the elf briefly. Legolas didn’t seem to notice, head tilted slightly to the side as his bright green eyes narrowed in what seemed like intense thought. 

“Legolas?” He asked, gripping his friend’s arm tightly. “What do you see lad?” 

Legolas’ face screwed up slightly as he frowned, causing him to look like little more than a youngling despite his many years. He’d lived through an entire age and then some. Gloin, upon meeting his son’s closest friend, had been exasperated to say the least. Legolas had a face one could never stay mad at - completely open and innocent, with wide green eyes and rosy cheeks, and a dimple that showed only when he smiled fully. His mother had loved him, and seemed content to ignore the fact that he was older then even Durin the Deathless by far. Legolas had not minded a whit, and indeed had seemed to enjoy the attention of a mother figure, his own mother having been killed at the Battle of Dagorlad when he had been little more than a babe. 

Legolas finally glanced down at him, though his gaze quickly returned to whatever had caught his attention. “I…” he trailed off, tilting his pale head more to the side. Some of his long hair hit Gimli in the nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. He batted it away instead, rolling his eyes when the mess of waves and curls caught round his fingers. Legolas didn’t notice. 

“I think I know who it is,” he said softly, in a tone filled with both wonder and caution, and something else Gimli could not name. Gimli, finished untangling his oblivious friend’s hair from his fingers, glanced up in alarm. 

“Who? What do you mean who?” He’d assumed Legolas had seen something, but would have never guessed that that something was a person. They were the only ones for what seemed like miles. Humans did not have any settlements here, and most of the elves had already sailed. Only a few stranglers, mostly in Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien, remained. Legolas’ father, the Elvenking Thranduil was among them, much to Legolas’ sorrow. 

Legolas looked down at him again, seeming to be more present then he had been in years, before the longing had truly taken hold of him. “You shall see soon enough!” he said, voice joyous, before he shot across the sand.

Gimli swore again. How did he end up best friends with an elf of all things? 

He walked carefully along the coastline, not willing to fall into the frigid water. Legolas was normally extremely perceptive and cautious about his mortal body. For him to not wait to see if Gimli could manage was rather odd, the overprotective elf that he was. Gimli quickened his pace, wanting to catch up with the flighty creature and discover what all this was about. 

After several long minutes in which he griped under his breath about Legolas and elves in general, he finally reached the object of his ire. Legolas was standing about ten paces away from a hooded figure, looking at them with an oddly guarded expression on his normally open face. The figure was perched on a rock, staring out to sea rather than looking at Legolas, a feat in and of itself. Legolas attracted attention no matter where he went, even in other elven realms. Long inky hair escpaped from the stranger’s hood, and they brushed it aside with a long fingered hand. The hand looked like it either belonged to someone only recently passed their majority, so unmarred it was, or, more likely, to another elf. 

Legolas said something, voice impossibly soft, in a language he did not understand and barely heard. The stranger looked over at him so quickly Gimli did not see the movement, their hood falling back. The figure was an elf, as Gimli had guessed, one that Gimli could now tell was male. His cheekbones stood out in stark relief in his far too thin face, and his dark blue eyes were sunken in, swimming in grief. 

Legolas smiled, though it was not the normal sunny smile he used with his friends and strangers alike. This one was sad and angry all at once, emotions Gimli did not often see on his friends face, so relentlessly cheerful was he normally. “Many think you are dead,” he finally said, speaking in the common tongue for Gimli’s benefit. His lilting accent had not faded over the years, and Gimli found himself comforted by it now. 

It was a long time before the stranger spoke, and Gimli took that time to make his own observations. The elf had not reacted to Gimli, which was a feat in and of itself, and had not taken his eyes off of Legolas’ face. Legolas bore the scrutiny well, and seemed to be looking at his fellow elf just as intensely. 

“You are Sindar?” the stranger finally asked, voice surprisingly melodious. 

Legolas huffed a small laugh. “I am Legolas, son of Thranduil Oropherion,” he said after a beat of silence. 

The stranger’s face twisted in a current of emotion at the admission, though he did not speak again. 

“I am Sindar through my father and grandfather, who are descended from Elmo, brother of Elu Thingol. Through my grandmother I am Vanyar, for she is the daughter of King Ingwë himself. My own mother is Silvan, one of the elves who have lived in the forests of Middle Earth for untold centuries, long before the flight of the Noldo and the devastations of the First Age.” 

The stranger laughed slightly, though it sounded more like a bitter cry. “So you should rightly despise me and my ilk,” he rasped, sounding as though he expected nothing more than Legolas’ anger. Anger that Gimli knew Legolas rarely felt. “Your father and grandparents were at Doriath when we came, after all.”

Legolas moved to crouch in front of the strange elf, much to Gimli’s alarm. He had learned much about elves through his friendship with Legolas, and was beginning to get some inkling to who this strange elf was. 

Legolas, as always, ignored his concern. 

He tilted his head to the side, looking more like a bird then the last elven Prince in the East. His hair nearly brushed the sand, before the wind carried it away. He tucked it behind a delicate ear with one hand, not breaking eye contact with the other elf. “You have been wandering these shores for thousands of years,” he whispered. “Do you not think it is time to return home?” 

The other elf laughed, though in truth he sounded close to tears, and grasped at the hand Legolas offered. “For my deeds I shall never return to Valinor,” he gasped. “I have committed much evil in my time. I do not deserve forgiveness.” 

“Perhaps not,” Legolas agreed. “Though that is not for me to decide.” 

The stranger smiled finally. “You are not what I expected, Legolas Thranduilion,” he mused. 

“You have heard enough of me to expect something?” 

“I have wandered far,” he said. “I hear much. And the Sindar do not hold high opinions of me and my kin.”

Legolas finally broke eye contact, shooting Gimli a slightly bewildered look. 

The stranger sighed. “I cannot return until the Silmarils are returns,” he whispered with a grim smile, confirming his identity to Gimli. “And they shall not return for many a long year.” 

Legolas stood from his crouch, moving to sit beside the other elf as though they were old friends. Gimli and the stranger, Maglor, second son of Fëanor, stared at Legolas together. Legolas ignored them both. He was a kind soul, Gimli knew, and though he could (should perhaps, given the deeds of this elf before them, oath driven or not) leave, could walk back down the coast to sail across the sea, never to return to Middle Earth and to the lone elf who wandered the shores, singing lamets of deeds done in ages past, he would not. Not until he’d said what he thought needed to be spoken. Stubborn brat. 

He took after his father far too much. 

“I have known Elrond for nearly all of my life. He came to visit Greenwood at the beginning of the Third Age, when I was little more than a toddler,” he said in a conversational tone, looking out to the sea instead of at the dark haired elf beside him. “Shortly after he left I began to send him drawings, included in my father’s missives. He kept them all, along with the ones his own children eventually gave him.”

Maglor flinched, face screwed up as though in pain. 

“I know you grew to love Elrond and Elros as though they were your own sons,” Legolas continued, “and Elrond became one of the greatest elves in both the Second and Third Ages. You could not have raised one such as him if you were truly as evil as you think.” 

Maglor studied Legolas for a long while, a look of deep thought on his ageless face. He looked slightly confused, yet hopeful at the same time, though the grief in his eyes overtook all other emotions still. 

“Perhaps,” was all he said, sinking into silence again. “You look like him,” he said suddenly, after sitting in silence for a long while. Gimli had long since sat himself against a rock. His knees were not what they used to be after all. The elves seemed content to ignore him, though kept speaking in the common tongue. Gimli did not know if that was for him benefit now or not, as they seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. 

“Like who?” Legolas asked, face turned up to the sky. The sun was beginning to set now, and the first stars were emerging. Legolas nearly glowed in the warm light of the setting sun, while the Noldo elf beside him seemed to sink more into himself, as if hiding from the emerging stars. 

“Your great-grandfather, Ingwë. I saw him once.” 

Legolas smiled, closing his eyes. “I am looking forward to meeting him,” was all he said. Gimli knew that was an understatement, to say the least. Dratted elf was ridiculously excited to meet his kin in the west, and seemed to think they would all welcome Gimli with open arms. 

Maglor smile, face softening for the first time. ‘I image you are.” 

Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Even the gulls were silent, apparently sensing the strange atmosphere. It should have been awkward, especially with Gimli standing watch, but was not. Legolas was very good at sitting in silence Gimli had discovered (early on in the quest in fact, when he’d managed to forget the elf was even there, much to his consternation and Legolas’s obvious amusement), and Maglor was clearly unaccustomed to talking. Gimli himself was not so good at being silent, but had learned, and was likewise becoming more patient in his old age. 

Legolas finally moved, resting his head on the other elf’s thin shoulder. 

Maglor’s eyes shot open with shock, though he did not move. From what Gimli knew of this particular elf’s history he and Legolas may very well be the first sentient beings he had seen since the end of the First Age. He undoubtedly did not know how to react to Legolas’s display of affection. Elves were physical creatures amongst themselves and those they held dear, and would frequently lean on one another or get in someone else’s personal space. Gimli had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time Legolas had leaned on him during the quest. Aragorn had simply laughed, and leaned against Legolas from the other side. To a dwarf, the open affection shown by the eldar was a little odd, but Gimli had learned to appreciate it, and knew it calmed Legolas. 

But Legolas had never met Maglor, and had grown hearing of the horrible deeds he and his brothers had done. His father and grandparents had witnessed the fall of Doriath, as Maglor had already mentioned, had seen the devastation wrought by the sons of Fëanor, led by the oath they had taken. His grandmother had nearly been killed in the attack, as had his father Thranduil, who had been a child at the time. 

By rights Legolas should loath the elf before him, who had been involved (though how deeply, Gimli did not know and did not care - he just wanted Legolas away from him) in all three of the Kinslayings, each worse than the last. 

But Legolas, being Legolas, did not play to anyone's expectations, even Gimli’s after all this time. He seemed genuinely concerned about the fate of the elf beside him, and as though he genuinely wanted to give him some measure of peace. 

Gimli did not understand. 

Legolas, upon their first meeting, had seemed constantly weary of him and his people, his normally happy face closed off when the dwarves had come near. Gimli had taken a great deal of offence at this at the time. He had expected the elves to scorn him, but he had not expected the blatant coldness delivered by the Prince of Mirkwood. Eventually though, the story had come out, with Frodo mentioning Legolas’s familial history, how Thranduil had been in Doriath during it’s sacking, and how Legolas was kin to Elu Thingol, the Elf King who had been killed by dwarves. He himself had had no love for elves, but did not have a relative who had been killed by one. He had been furious over the treatment of his father and the rest of Thorin’s company, true, but no dwarf had been killed by an elf in thousands of years. To him, that was ancient history. 

To the elf it was not. 

Legolas was a kind soul, but he did not easily forgive those who sought to hurt his family. And though the elf beside him may not be the one who had personally killed his kin, hurt his grandmother, or threatened his father when he’d been little more than a child, he was still one of the Fëanorians, who had been driven by the oath that had caused untold pain and suffering amongst the eldar. 

He was surprised in the extreme at Legolas’ treatment of Maglor. Of his seeming acceptance. 

Perhaps the quest and years of sea-longing (and maybe even their friendship) had changed Legolas more than he had previously thought. 

Or perhaps Legolas could sense true repentance in the elf before them. 

Gimli personally though they could let him wallow for another age or so, but no one was asking him. He understood it was not his place, but he would be sure to give the lad a piece of his mind once they left. 

Elves! 

Maglor released a massive, shuddering, sigh, body relaxing from it’s tense position as he leaned back into Legolas in turn. Legolas said nothing, but began to hum a song Gimli knew was from his childhood, one that had been sung by the Silvan elves that were his mother’s kin. He did not sing the words, but Gimli thought that no words were needed. It was a song that Maglor, being a Noldo, would likely not know Gimli assumed. Even he knew that the Noldo seemed to scorn the Silvan elves who inhabited the forests of Middle Earth. Legolas had chosen well. The song would be new to the other elf, one that would not carry memories for him. 

Perhaps he could make some new memories, ones that were free from pain and sorrow. 

Gimli shook himself. He was becoming too soft in his old age. 

Legolas finished the song, and let the last note fade into silence. The gulls, apparently sensing the strange spell was broken, began to cry out once more. Legolas looked up at them, startled, and Gimli could see the moment the sea longing began to overtake him once more. 

He stood up, intending to go to his friend, when Maglor stopped him. 

“You should sail,” he murmured, tears on his sunken cheeks. “You have a whole world waiting for you across the sea, one that you rightly deserve.” 

Legolas straightened, no longer leaning against the other elf, to give him a look of such sorrow it hurt Gimli to see. He touched one pale hand to the older elf’s cheek, wiping a tear away with the tip of one slender finger. “You will see Valinor again someday,” he promised. “It may be another age or more, but you will see it again.” 

Maglor closed his eyes, leaning into Legolas’ palm. “I hope you are right,” he said softly, longing clouding his voice. 

Legolas smiled gently, leaning over to kiss the Noldo’s forehead. Maglor, Gimli noted, looked much more at peace when Legolas drew back. “I will see you again one day, Maglor son of Fëanor,” Legolas said. “We shall meet again in the eternal realm, where you can finally find peace.” 

He stood then, allowing his hand to drop from the other elf’s cheek. Meglor closed his eyes, looking bereft at the loss. “Thank you, Legolas Thranduilion,” he whispered. “You have shown me a great deal of kindness that I still do not think I deserve, but will nonetheless treasure for years to come.” 

Legolas simply smiled, eyes drawn ever to the gulls above. Gimli stepped closer to his dearest friend, unwilling to see him suffer sea longing alone. Legolas looked down at him gratefully. Maglor ignored him, though Gimli did not mind. His only care was for Legolas, and getting him on the ship that would take them to the undying realm and finally put Legolas’s soul at ease. 

Legolas put his hand over his heart in an elvish gesture of farewell, inclining his head slightly. Maglor stood, and drew Legolas into an embrace. Gimli could tell his friend was surprised, but overcame his shock and embraced the other elf. Gimli put his own hand on his knife. He did not think Maglor would do anything, not with how the conversation had gone, but did not want to risk it. It would be just Legolas’s luck to be injured right before leaving Middle Earth behind. Legolas would surely be cross, but Gimli hardly cared. He would not apologise for protecting his friend, no matter how repentened Maglor was. He was still, after all, a son of Fëanor. 

Legolas let go first, and took a step back from the other elf. Maglor sat back down on his rock, drawing his hood back up against the wind. “ _ Namárië _ ,” he said with a small smile. 

Maglor nodded in return, eyes still wet with unnamed emotions, and did not say anything, though Gimli noted the grief that had been so prevalent was less so now. 

“Come lad,” he said softly. Even speaking quietly, his rough voice was still jarring to both elves. Maglor flinched into his hood, and Legolas jumped slightly at his side, before laying a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him before his attention returned to the sea. 

Gimli smiled sadly, and gave Maglor, the second son of Fëanor, one last look before pulling his friend down the coast. They walked in silence, neither of them looking back to see if he was still there on his rock, singing laments only the sea could hear. 

He had the feeling if they looked back they would not see anything. That he would be long gone. 

“You alright laddie?” Gimli asked, finally breaking the silence. Legolas pulled his attention away from the sea, looking down at Gimli in surprise. He was glowing faintly in the moonlight, blond hair turned a shining white and skin glowing a soft gold. Gimli wondered again at the contrast between him and the elf they had just left. 

Legolas finally let out a small self deprecating laugh. “I am fine, elvellon,” he whispered, fair voice nearly breaking. Gimli reached over to grip his arm, but said nothing. Legolas would not thank him for pointing out weakness. 

Legolas smiled faintly at the touch, and did not pull his arm away. He said nothing more, and Gimli knew better than to push him. Perhaps one day they would speak more of Maglor Fëanorion and their strange meeting at the sea, but that day would not come for some time yet. First they had to get to Valinor, to sail across the sea and away from Middle Earth, never to return. 

Truthfully, Gimli would not miss it. The last of his close family was long dead, and his more distant cousins had lives of their own. The dwarves were digging deeper and deeper into the earth. It was the Age of Men after all, not of Dwarves. Gimli knew in his very soul that he would not be content with that now. Once he would have been. As a young dwarf, before the Quest, he would have not even considered doing anything other then staying with his kin. That was before he’d met Legolas. Before the elf had wormed his way into his heart, and become as close as a brother to him. He would not imagine his life without the flighty creature, and indeed, even some of Legolas’s love of the stars and all living things had rubbed off on him. Not that he would ever tell the elf that. He would be happier accompanying Legolas to Valinor then he would remaining in Middle Earth alone. 

“Should we leave tonight, do you reckon?” he asked as they approached their ship, the only one docked in Mithlond, all the other elves long gone. 

Legolas turned his face to dark sky, green eyes slipping closed. “At first light,” he said after several beats of silence. Gimli frowned, opening his mouth to argue, when Legolas continued. “I want to spend one last night here in Middle Earth. We shall leave at dawn’s first light. The wind will be fairer tomorrow.” 

Gimli grunted. “If you say so.” He still thought they shouldn’t wait. Legolas seemed alright now, but Gimli worried for the lad. 

Legolas laughed brightly. “I do,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Gimli raised a bushy white eyebrow. “For what?” 

Legolas shrugged elegantly, sitting down on the dock, feet dangling over the edge to dip into the cool water. Gimli lowered himself beside his friend, sitting close enough to feel the heat of the elf’s body through his tunic. “Just… thank you.” 

Gimli pat Legolas’s hand, but did not push further. 

Sometimes, words were not needed. Not between two as close as them. 

They sat in silence for several more hours, simply enjoying their last night in Middle Earth, before Gimli entered the ship they would use to sail across the sea, glad he at least had had the forethought to put a comfortable bed at the bow of the ship, protected by the elements by a light canvas covering. Legolas, he knew, would sleep rarely, and would have no need for a bed. He lay down, and slipped into a dreamless sleep immediately. 

He slept through the rising of the sun, through Legolas readying their small ship to sail, and through the first several hours of their journey, so smooth was their sailing. He thought for a moment to be angry at Legolas for depriving him for a last look at Middle Earth, but found himself not caring. It was no longer his home. His home was with the elf princling now, and how his forefathers would be rolling in their graves to know that! He did not know if he would be well received when they reached the Undying Lands, but knew Legolas was hopeful. He could remember his grandmother, who had sailed shortly after the Battle of Dagorlad and the death of her husband when Legolas was barely out of infancy, fondly, and claimed that she would accept Gimli with open arms. 

He supposed he should feel more confident then. Legolas’s Grandmother Huoriel was the daughter of Ingwë, High King of all elves. If she accepted him as a companion to her beloved grandson, he would be just fine. 

He walked cautiously over to Legolas, who had perched himself on the side of the boat, loosely holding the mainsheet. He looked more at peace then he had for years, as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Gimli looked at him in approval. 

“Now see here laddie,” he scolded, though his voice was awash with humour. “Who said you could set sail without me? You’ll be sailing us in circles without some good dwarven sense!” 

Legolas grinned at him, leaning back over the waves. “I would certainly be lost without you Gimli,” he said, looking at the dwarf with a completely open expression. 

Gimli couldn’t hold onto his scowl faced with such naked emotion. “Aye lad. I’d be lost without you as well.” 

Legolas merely smiled. “Come, sit with me my friend! The day is beautiful and the wind is fair. We are making good time, and will be in the West with my kin before long.” 

Gimli shook his head, unable to keep the smile off his face. 

Damn flighty elf. 

He sat near Legolas anyway, and settled in to watch the waves pass as they left for their new life. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know!


End file.
